OneShots
by StillNotGinger2
Summary: A Collection Of My Fandom-Inspired Oneshots.
1. Carl And Patrick: Nights Like This

Amongst The Storm

Saturday, 26 October 2013

2:43 PM

It was raining when Carl first heard the whimper. It disturbed him from his sleep as he tossed and turned, trying to close his heavy eyelids but the whimpering made it impossible to sleep.

Pulling himself from bed with a heavy sigh, he pulled his hat over his head and, glancing for a last look at the still figure of his sleeping father, squeezed through the cell door and out into the hall.

The whimpering was louder now; more desperate.

Treading quietly as to not wake anyone, he held his gun by his side, afraid it was something unhuman.

It had been quite a while since any walkers had found their way inside the prison but Carl knew better then to believe everyone when they said it was safe.

With another slight whimper, the voice cried quietly a word that Carl couldn't make out but the voice was unmistakable.

"Patrick?" Carl hissed, moving slowly closer to the older boy's cell.

With another whimper, he heard Patrick's voice say his name back in reply, saying softly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

Carl nodded even if in the darkness his figure was invisible to Patrick's eye.

Reaching for his glasses he settled them on his face, watching Carl enter his cell and carefully sit on the edge of his bed.

The young boy was not foreign to Patrick's cell and they'd spent many hours in there talking.

"You okay?" Carl finally said, his voice a harsh whisper between the sound of thunder and heavy rain. It didn't make sense to Patrick that the day had been so perfect yet the night could be so unpredictable as he had grown up so far away from the place he had previously lived in.

"I'm scared," he said.

The truth was he was scared but Carl's presence made him feel better. Is this what feeling in love feels like? he wondered, staring at the younger boy's lips as he imagined carving them with his.

"I am too," Carl sheepishly admitted, dodging Patrick's gaze. "We haven't had a storm like this since the first week we found you guys. I hope everyone's okay."

Patrick nodded.

What would Carl do if he was to kiss him? Would Carl push him away or kiss him back?

Still thinking, Patrick pulled the blanket over his shoulders and sank down into his bed, rolling on his side to sleep.

He felt the disappearance of Carl's warmth against his legs and then the blanket behind him was pulled up ever so slightly as the boy lowered himself into the bed beside Patrick with a loud yawn.

"Carl," Patrick breathed softly.

The young boy tapped onto Patrick's shoulder making him turn. Without a warning, he felt lips against him, almost as if hungry.

Feeling the need for air, Patrick pulled away, taking a deep breath as he separated his lips from Carl's.

"Sorry," the boy said quietly, his cheeks turning an unmistakable shade of red that made Patrick feel sorry for pulling away so suddenly.

Patrick leant forward and let Carl kiss him. It was passionate and soft, and as Patrick kissed him back, he couldn't deny he had waited weeks to finally do this.

As they both pulled away, desperate for air, Carl smiled at Patrick.

"Well," he said suddenly, "I... I love you, Patrick."

Patrick choked, unable to say it back until finally Carl kissed him again and then, when he pulled away, cupped Patrick's face in his hand.

"I love you," Patrick said quietly, "I love you, Carl."

There was a loud crack of thunder and Patrick jumped closer to Carl, making the young boy laugh and then wrap his arms around Patrick's waist. "I'll go back to my cell in the morning," he sighed tiredly.

And for once, Patrick felt safe going to sleep.


	2. John Watson: Crimson Thoughts

John sipped at the drink he had made a few hours ago. It was cold but beat feeling the rawness in his throat from crying.

He hadn't spoken to Molly since he'd visited the morgue after Sherlock's death and she had seemed so distant and was no longer her bouncy self; her hair was a mess and she had cried once John had walked in.

They had sat opposite each other and drank tea while she cried and John watched her, feeling guilty as he couldn't speak. If he did, he was scared he might cry and he had kept to himself until that moment.

John continued to write, the pen shaky in his hand as he tried to write for what seemed like the hundredth time.

All he needed was a miracle and a man can hope, at least, that his best friend returns from the dead. It had been so long since their last phone call and John felt guilt over what he hadn't done to save Sherlock; his only true friend in so long.

It felt heavy in his hands as he fiddled with it, trying to buy himself some more time. Like their so many adventures, John longed to follow Sherlock.

Only this time he had waited until he followed.

His thoughts felt rusty as he cleared his throat, his head replaying his endless beg for his best friend to return.

John dropped the gun onto the table with a clang as he continued his note for Sherlock.

He knew that if Sherlock was alive this was the only way he could get his best friend to return.

The gun seemed to stare at him as if hoping to be used; praying that he would pull that trigger.

John dropped the note, pushing back his chair and standing. The knife was set next to the body, its tip covered in the men's thick blood and the handle worn.

With a wicked smile, staring at the mess of bodies in front of him, he read the note by his feet, checking and making sure each word was perfect and neat; so perfect in fact that Sherlock would recognize it.

"Welcome back, Sherlock," John said, the sirens in the distance alerting him it was his time; this was how it ended and for once, John felt proud of himself.


	3. Beth And Daryl: Alcohol and Virgins

"The blood that's been spilled..." Beth began but she felt her throat clam up and swallowed loudly, sitting down carefully.

She slide a hand into Daryl's gently as he flinched at the sudden contact, "I don't want you to die."

He shrugged it off, and went back to sharpening his arrows. "Don' really have a choice, do I? Like Merle? Andrea?"

Beth sighed in defeat and reached her hand out for the bottle of beer beside him, grasping it in between her thin pale fingers and bringing in to her lips, as the fire warmed the front of her legs. "You want some?" she asked innocently before taking another long sip of the burning liquid.

"Ya serious?" he replied, taking the bottle and drinking for a long while before wiping his mouth with his arm and handing it back.

She gave a small hiccup and laughed. "I remember the first time I drank. It was about when I was fifteen, before any of this, and Maggie and Shawn tricked the guy at the liquor store into giving them a few cases of beer. They came home and we all drank some; all of it. Of course they got hang-overs and I got sick so Daddy got mad but it was really fun and then Spring came and Shawn had to go back to college and we had to go to school. I never told anyone before-"

"'Cause you're tha perfect daughter right? Goes to church on Sunday, extra credit assignments, doesn't go to parties unless its a bible reading?"

Beth shuffled her ass further back on the hard log and took another long sip, leaning forward, bottle in hand. "I hate the taste," she replied raspy, the beer burning her throat as it went down.

Squeezing her cleavage together she smiled, "I always admired you, Mr. Dixon. Tough and strong... Handsome," she acknowledged.

"Listen Blondie, I don' like ya like that, stop trying so hard," he muttered gruffly, snatching the bottle from her hand, his eyes wandering down her open shirt.

Beth leaned forward even more and gave a half smile. "Twenty questions? I'll start?" she moved so she was facing the older man and hiccupped again. "Have you ever been in love?" she questioned.

As he shook his head, she passed him the bottle and he took a drink, "Have you?"

Beth shook her head in reply and took the bottle from him, taking a long sip of the warm liquid and giving a polite burp. "Are you a virgin?"

There was an uneasy silence until he gave a slight nod, and asked her the question in return. She nodded.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked, looking at him hopelessly with her large blue doe-like eyes. Without a warning his lips were on hers instantly in a drunken mess of sloppy lips and breath that stank of alcohol. "Beautiful," he whispered into her ear as he kissed her neck, his hand exploring up her shirt.

"Are you really a virgin?" she asked, moaning quietly. "Yea'," he replied, pushing her down onto the ground and climbing onto of her, his lips pressing to her marble neck.

"Do you want to be?" Beth pressed, tangling her hands into his thick dark hair. "No," he whispered sexily into her ear, kissing her passionately on the lips. "Do yu'?"


End file.
